Maybe Someday
by writergirl8
Summary: Everybody has to face their bullies- some people later than others. For Hermione, there are two chances to one up her muggle tormenter. And both of them are done with Ron Weasley by her side. Two defining moments. Three people. Ten years.


It strange to look into the mirror and see your reflection. You always look a bit different from how you picture yourself. Sometimes you'll wonder why your face looks that awful, because you're pretty sure you have to be prettier than the image that stares back at you. And sometimes you'll swear to god that your eyes are usually prettier than they seem at that moment. But the thing is, no matter how much we wish they do, mirrors don't lie. They won't tell you that you're skinny if you're actually quite fat. As a matter of fact, I would be willing to bet that mirrors are the most honest things you will ever meet in your entire life. More honest than humans, to be frank. Mirrors reflect the outside to perfection, and that's possibly why so many people avoid them.

Brown eyes. Poofy brown hair. Stupid nose freckles. Exactly... six spots. That's what this mirror is telling me, the truth I receive from it. I'm not exactly enthralled with my appearance, but I do acknowledge that it could be worse. That's encouraging, right? I could have more spots, or bushier hair, or freckles everywhere instead of just that light splattering across my nose. Still, I can almost hear everyone in school thinking that I am the ugliest girl there. And I know that I shouldn't care, but ever since third year... well, it's been impossible not to. Third year, when the butterflies came and the blushing cheeks arrived and when I first realized that I was falling in love with my best friend.

It had been the summer before fourth year that I realized it. I had been in my room listening to the radio and sulking because I was feeling odd and I couldn't exactly pinpoint where it was coming from. The radio, however, was no help. Each song seemed to strike a bolt in my stomach, hit a painful spot in my heart. And that was when I knew. How exactly? Well, it all goes back to one day when I was nine years old. My mother and I had been in the car with the radio softly humming along with us, driving down the street. Then it had happened. She'd turned to me, looked me in the eye, then said,

"Hermione, dear, if you ever reach a day where every song on the airwaves seems to apply to you, that's when you know you're in trouble."

At the time, I hadn't really known where to go with that. After all, my parents aren't really into "heart to hearts." Both would rather talk about books or theories or ponder the mysteries of the world. So when my mum offered me some advice that was so blatantly about life, to say I was dumbstruck was an understatement. I was also eager. After all, I had no idea what my mum was talking about, but there was a burning feeling in my stomach that was the leader of my desire to find out exactly what she was telling me. I'd pondered it for days, listening to the radio and trying to relate it to my own life. At nine years old, I was never once successful. As a matter of fact, my biggest concern was how to get out of trouble, as I hated getting punished.

So that hot summer day when I was thirteen years old, I turned on the radio in my bedroom. The weather was too stifling to do anything but lie there, so instead of being productive, I dedicated my time to attempting to memorize all the songs on the radio. It was then that I realized it. Every song playing seemed to speak directly to how I felt- I was actually able to connect it to points of my life. You know the quote 'all roads lead to Rome'? Well, these roads led to Ron. And that terrified me. I knew how I was in trouble just then- it wasn't with my parents. It was with myself. My heart was in trouble, because I was losing it to my best friend.

And then it all made sense.

It's been three years since that revelation, and at sixteen years old I'm not at all closer to getting over Ron. That's why I started caring about looks, really. Because when I see myself I also see what he sees. And if he sees what I see... well, I'm never going to get to be with him. Besides, it's not like looks are the worst part about me. He'd probably hate dating me because of my personality. Admittedly, I _could_ be a bit kinder about my grades. But I'm _not_ dimming myself down just because I fancy someone, and if he can't like me because of that... well, it's not my problem.

I just wish it wouldn't hurt so much.

My eyes flit from the mirror to the window, and they peer eagerly outside, waiting for the sight that I know to be coming. There's a jumble of butterflies in my stomach as I gaze out at my empty street, usually so lively in the summer. If only it weren't so hot. Growing bored of the sight of the empty block, my eyes trail down to my watch. The hand on it slowly ticks. Their portkey comes in... thirty seconds. Twenty. Ten.

CRACK!

Immediately, my eyes shoot up and come to rest on the sight of two very redheaded people, both looking nervously around the street. I stifle a giggle as I think of Mr. Weasley and Ron's last experience with picking up a friend from a muggle household. Mrs. Weasley picked me up last year to go to Grimmauld Place, and she got on beautifully with my parents, but when I'd gotten my letter from Ron he'd said that both he and his father were coming this time. I think they both know in their hearts that this won't be a Dursley repeat, but in spite of themselves they're still nervous. I watch them pull open the little gate and walk up the flower lined pathway to the house. My house. Ronald Weasley is at my house. Walking up the doorstep. Reaching out to ring the doorbell. As the sound echoes through the house, I instantly stand and walk over to the mirror for one last check. Tank top pulled up as high as it can go and covering all cleavage, bushy hair in a helpful braid, shorts as long as I can bear in the hot summer weather. Good to go.

My feet make satisfyingly loud noises as they hit the wooden stairs, and my hands lightly trail along the banisters on each side. As I round the corner landing, I can hear the soft murmur of people greeting each other. The calm, reassuring sound of my mum and the light, cheerful sound of Mr. Weasley. There's a clear of the throat, and then I hear a voice that I presume to be Ron's saying a polite hello to my father. It must be Ron, because even though it's not the same as it was the last time I saw him, there's still a familiar twinge to it that will never change no matter how deep it gets. I stop at the top of the stairs, surveying the scene. My mother and father, standing next to each other and opening the door wide in welcome. Mr. Weasley, with his glasses and balding head, grinning as he shakes hands with dad. And Ron, who seems to be studying my parents' faces as if he's trying to see me in them. As his eyes rake over my mum, I see them light up, and then an amused smile spreads across that mouth of his.

As if he knows I'm watching him, Ron suddenly turns around, face turning even brighter when he sees me standing on the stairs. I smile at him in a slightly shy manner and try not to focus on the way he's gotten even taller since the last time I saw him. That boy never stops growing. It's actually ridiculous. Almost subconsciously, he moves towards me, as if it is his body's natural instinct to be near me. I suppose this must come from all the time we spend together in school, how we just gravitate towards each other when we see each other across the room, no matter where we are. I can see my mum's eyebrows go up as she notices it, though, and try not to blush furiously. Ron isn't even aware of what's going on, and neither is his father, who is enthusiastically peering around the house in search of muggle technology to gape at.

"So, Ron and Hermione will be spending the day together?" mum asks.

Mr. Weasley snaps to attention and suddenly begins to look uncomfortable. I shift awkwardly, remembering that my parents know nothing about the packed suitcase that rests in my room. Just as they know nothing about the war that is about to take place around them. I don't know how to tell them- or, indeed, how much to tell.

"Actually," Mr. Weasley says, "I was wondering if I could talk to you about that."

Ron looks away from me, not allowing our eyes to meet for the first time since he has seen me. I bite my lip, trying to ignore the excitement that is coursing through me. If Mr. Weasley pulls this off, I'll be spending a fun summer with all the Weasleys. If he fails, I probably won't even be able to go back to Hogwarts. Luckily, mum seems to sense the seriousness of his tone of voice.

"Hermione," she says lightly, "why don't you take Ron to the cinema? I'm know you've been wanting to see that film that just came out, and it starts quite soon."

Mum knows that I know very little about cinema, but the theater isn't that far away from our house when we walk, and no doubt mum just wants a place for us to go for a few hours while she talks to Mr. Weasley about our world.

"Of course," I say graciously, and I glance over at Ron to see the curiosity and anticipation in his eyes. A muggle cinema... right. Ron won't have been in one of these, come to think of it. Dad hands me some money very discreetly, and I gesture for Ron to follow me. We both nod awkwardly at our parents before opening the door to head out of the house. One step. Two steps. And we're out, gone, the door closing behind us. For a second, we simply stand on the stoop, nervous silence consuming us. And suddenly Ron lets a large grin cross his face and I lean forward to give him a nerve wracking hug, one that is so brief it shouldn't make me feel this strange.

"Hi," he says, letting go of the stiff polite attitude and, as a result, looking slightly goofy.

"Hello!" I reply enthusiastically. "How are you?"

"Good," he responds easily. "You?"

"Good," I echo.

We make our way down the path and through the white gate, Ron's eyes shooting around the area as though he's trying to memorize it. _I _memorize _him_, knowing that he's so captivated by the muggle world he won't be paying any attention to me. We're well past the end of the street by the time he turns back to me and says,

"So, where exactly arewe going?"

"To the cinema," I tell him. "We're going to watch a film."

"Oh," he says. "Alright."

"Have you ever seen one before?" I inquire, already knowing the answer. He looks slightly embarrassed, caught between the obvious truth and the desire to lie. His eyes rake over my face, and I try to make it as encouraging as possible.

"No," he replies finally. "I haven't."

"Well, that's fine," I say brightly. "It's going to be so fun to be with you for your first time!"

There's a pause in which we both realize what I've just said. Ron begins to cough incessantly, having choked on his own spit. I turn bright red and resist the urge to slam my head against the next lamp post that we pass. Needless to say, we spend the rest of the walk in total and complete silence, not exactly used to this type of awkwardness. Arriving at the cinema is a welcome distraction, and we walk in with great relief. Ron is still soaking things in as I walk up to the ticket station, raising my eyebrows at the numbers on the board above.

"Prices have skyrocketed since that last time I was here," I admit, slightly surprised. It's been more than a while since I've been to the cinema, in spite of the fact that it's so close to my muggle home. The problem is, I spend so little time in that place that it doesn't really feel like home anymore. Home is Hogwarts, home is Harry.

Home is Ron.

Ron, who right now is turning bright red as the word 'prices' comes into play. I almost smack myself on the forehead- why did I have to bring up money? Of course he doesn't have any muggle bills, and while there's more than enough to pay for the two of us and get snacks, he's bound to be awkward about it. He's always so tetchy about money- it makes him feel so worthless. I absolutely abhor that, I really do.

"I- er- don't have any money on me, Hermione," he mutters, face fiercely red.

"Good," I say lightly, "because it's on us."

"No, no, that's okay," he mumbles, still embarrassed.

"But I want to pay!" I argue back. "If it weren't for your dad, I'd be spending the rest of the summer at home with my parents instead of with you." Pause. "A-and Harry. And Ginny. You know what I mean. You... guys. Plural. The plural of you."

He shoots me a lopsided smile, and my stomach flutters nervously.

"Yeah, I do," he agrees. "Okay. Maybe I can pickup something for you in Hogsmeade sometime. As a thank you, you know."

"Ron," I laugh, "you can't give me a thank you for a thank you. That would be a never ending train of owing! Just... promise me you'll write your essays at least a day early this year."

"Sure I will, Hermione," he smirks condescendingly.

I roll my eyes as I head up to the window to pay, going for the movie that is starting the soonest without even considering the subject matter. It doesn't even cross my mind to look at anything but the times of the movies- just the idea of being alone with Ron in a dark movie theater is enough to make the teenage girl in me want to scream in excitement. Lavender and Parvati are always talking about going to movie theaters to snog in the dark, and I can't help but let myself hope that it might happen to me. I wouldn't even care that my first kiss with Ron happened in a movie theater, because I would be kissing him. And honestly, after all the longing and build up that has cumulative over the years, I don't think I would complain if our first kiss was in a burning building. Which is actually what it might come down to in the end- maybe we'll be in a house that's on fire and Ron will realize he doesn't want to die without snogging someone and just dive for me.

Maybe I could arrange for a little something to happen to the Shrieking Shack...

"Er- Hermione?"

There's a hand that's waving in my face, disrupting me from my evil and potentially suicidal plans.

"Yeah?"

"We... we should go into the theater," Ron says, looking at me like I'm crazy. "It's sort of... starting?"

He looks confused, like it's not every day he catches me staring off into space. I suppose it isn't, actually. I'll be damned before I space out during class. That would be catastrophic.

"Right, but the previews are on right now, so do you want to get something to eat first?" I ask, pointing towards the concession stand. Ron's eyes light up at the sight of all the food, which I take as confirmation. I buy a large popcorn and one large drink, then get two straws. For some reason, it doesn't even register in my mind that I should do it differently- what could go wrong from one bucket of popcorn?

See, that boy seriously clouds my judgment. Because in hindsight, I should have foreseen the awkwardness that comes with sharing. Unfortunately, I'm an only child. We don't really get that.

Ron's a bit surprised at how dark the theater is, and he lets out a little yelp as he takes in the size of the screen.

"Merlin," he hisses, clutching his heart, "people are not supposed to be that big!"

I laugh, unable to help myself. Why does Ron have to be so adorable?

We make our way to the back, apologizing repeatedly as we step on people, Ron tripping up the steps in the dark. I pretend not to notice while he blushes. It's so very different, just the two of us. I don't think he usually trips around Harry... he just seems so jumpy and strange and nervous today, and in spite of myself I can't help but enjoy it. I think that this must be what love feels like- maybe not the romantic kind, but I'm getting there. For now, though, I love him for being my friend and wanting to be friends with me, and until we can move up from that, it's honestly enough.

By the time we reach our seats all the way in the back (I carefully inspect the area for any couples, but the back row is miraculously empty), we slump down into them in an exhausted manner, as though we've just trekked across a desert instead of up the steps of a movie theater. Ron's eyes go to the movie screen, cobalt eyes wide in marvel, and I can suddenly picture an older version of him sitting in front of a television set, holding me and bearing those eyes. But instead of looking at the screen that way, he's looking at me. Once again, I'm so caught up in the image, I don't even notice that we're both reaching into the popcorn bucket at the same time. My fingers hit his hand, brushing lightly against them. He jerks it back suddenly, causing the bucket to tip over and a bit of the popcorn to spill all over my lap. He immediately begins stammering apologies, and his hands go to my lap to hastily pick up the kernels. Ron suddenly freezes when he realizes where his hands are. He snatches them back and clears his throat loudly.

"I'll... er... let you take care of that," he says hoarsely, and the person two rows in front of him turns around and shushes him. "Sorry!" he says, just as loud, and he looks like he's about to die as he turns towards me with a guilty look on his face.

"You're not supposed to talk when you're at the cinema," I tell him, biting my lip in apology. I really should have told him that before. "I should have told you."

"Nah," he says, slumping back against his chair. "I should have known in the first place."

And there it is, that awful self deprecation that makes me want to cover his hand with mine and tell him how amazing he is and how much I fancy him and almost-love him and how he's the only boy I've ever felt that way about and how he's better than any other guy that I've ever met because he is _Ron_. The fact that I can't just goes to show that I never should have been put in Gryffindor in the first place. I'm a right coward.

I want to keep on watching Ron, but I know he'll be much more aware of it now, so I turn back to the screen and begin to watch the film. Roughly ten minutes later, I'm blushing. I happen to have picked the movie about the girl who falls in love with her best friend without even realizing it. Of course. Of course! Why _wouldn't _I pick that movie? Why would I have picked a movie with guns and war- something that Ron would actually enjoy? _Of course_ I picked this movie, _of course_. It seems like the world is seriously trying to push me and Ron together. Well it's not going to work, world! We'll get together on our own terms, thank you very much! If he fancies me, if it's right, it'll happen, and I don't need karma mortifying me like this every chance it gets. So you, karma, can just stay out of it from now on!

Oh, shoot, why do I feel like I'm going to regret thinking that?

Swallowing, and realizing that my throat is parched, I lean over to take a sip from the drink. I end up finding myself face to face with Ron, who has also been leaning down for a sip of the fountain drink that I got despite my parents' warnings about soda. Our heads are bent in exactly the way that they would need to be if we were going to kiss, him to his left, me to my left.

My mother is actually quite a brilliant woman. Ten bucks says that she's somewhere laughing her arse off right now.

I quickly take a sip, then back up so that Ron can get his. His lips close around the straw that my mouth has just been on, and I stare at him in shock before realizing that he simply hasn't seen the second straw that I put in the drink. It's not like he wanted to put my spit in his mouth or anything. And do I really fancy him so much that the idea of that is actually kind of sexy? Oh merlin. I think I need to get out of this movie theater.

Somehow- don't ask me how, because I literally do not have any idea- we survive the movie without anymore talking, snogging, or wandering hands. We do not, however, get by without embarrassment. The movie is, after all, about best friends that fall in love, and the fact that I nearly cried at one point (the pain of the protagonist hit way too close to home) probably did not go unnoticed by Ron. Thankfully, he makes no inclination of anything being amiss as we exit the theater, and it's a relief to be out of the dark space. The bright sunlight makes us both squint, and the familiar wall of heat hits us staggeringly. I instantly suggest that we head to the ice cream parlor, and Ron readily agrees. We both order cones and I can feel Ron's eyes on me as I lick mine, causing me to feel rather self conscious. There's this desperate need to call him out on it, to demand why he's watching me lick an ice cream cone and why his ears are red because I have to know the answer someday, but I just_ can't_. Coward. I am so pathetic. Because what if I'm wrong? What if he's watching me because my tongue is the least sexy thing he's ever seen in his entire life and he can't look away because it's so disgusting? Knowing that would kind of murder me. That said, I finish up quickly and silently.

We both get up and begin walking home, conversation beginning to flow the further away from the ice cream parlor that we get. By the time we hit the post office, we're on a roll. Ron is making me laugh like he always does, the pattern so familiar and comforting that I almost don't want anything to change between us. But not quite. It's just so easy to be around him, even through the awkwardness, because he's still Ron and he's still my best friend and not many things could ever change that. My eyes devour the sight of these places and the feeling of Ron being in them with me, and it's as my eyes sweep around the area that I notice. Maddie Shorter, walking along the opposite side of the street, hand in hand with an extremely handsome boy, her fingers twisting in her straw blond hair and her head thrown back in a laugh. Her arms are crossed in the front, displaying an enormous amount of cleavage that she definitely hadn't had when I had gone to school with her. Then again, we were ten. Still, I definitely don't want to see her. Instantly, I grab Ron by the shoulders and shove him against the wall of the little alcove on the side of the Bed and Breakfast. My eyes never leave Maddie, who is still walking down the street calmly and flirtatiously. I don't even know how one would walk flirtatiously, but Maddie somehow figures out how to pull it off.

God, I hate that girl.

I turn back to Ron, wanting to apologize, and find myself face to face with his chest, heaving up and down with slightly labored breaths. I glance up at him and find his eyes wide with shock, ice cream breath somehow smelling good on him. Great. I will now forever associate Ron with ice cream. Just great.

"Er- Hermione?" he says, voice rough as gravel. "What's going-?"

"See that girl over there?" I say, gesturing to Maddie. Ron's eyes follow my finger, and he wrinkles his nose at the sight of her.

"She seems way too giggly," he comments, causing a rush of affection to fill me.

"She is. Well... that girl sort of... she isn't the nicest person. So I don't want to have to stop for a chat, you know?"

"You deal with not nice people all the time," Ron says flatly. "For example... Slytherins."

"Right," I concede. "But Maddie is sort of... well, she tortured me in grade school. Maddie is the kind of person that seems so sweet and kind, but in actuality she's quite fake and judgmental and makes herself happy by being obnoxious to those who are... not as good looking as she is, or people who are different. Or, you know, in my case... both."

"What?" Ron manages to say. "Are you kidding, Hermione? You're way better looking than she is."

"Thanks," I say softly.

It's out before he can even think about what he's saying- that I can see simply from the way he winces after he says it. I smile weakly at him, even though I know he's lying. She's got long, straight blond hair, beautiful pale skin accompanied by properly placed freckles, gorgeous blue eyes, and a perfect physique. I absolutely hate that girl.

"Well, it looks like she's gone," Ron says quietly, and I extract myself from the position as fast as I can.

"Thanks," I breathe.

"No problem," Ron says easily.

We proceed to walk down the street, until suddenly,

"HERMIONE? HERMIONE! HERMIONE GRANGER!"

I whip around to see Maddie Shorter walking quickly towards me and Ron, breasts somehow managing to bounce up and down even though she's barely running. And I swear to god her hair is fanning attractively behind her as though there's some sort of wind in her face. I don't need to turn around to know exactly where Ron's gaze is.

Maybe doing an avada kedavera on her would be worth going to Azkaban?

"Maddie!" I say in surprise, as though it's the first time I've seen her. "Hi!"

"I almost didn't see you!" she trills. "We walked right by you and missed you, but I happened to turn around and see that trademark hair of yours taking up the entire sidewalk."

Wow. That's original.

"I'm so glad," I say dryly. She giggles as though she doesn't hear the sarcastic nature of my tone.

"So how is it up at that snobby new school of yours?"

Seriously, she thinks _I'm_ snooby?

"Great," I say, teeth gritted together. "How about you?"

"It's lovely," she responds. Suddenly, the boy she'd been walking next to comes up behind her and snakes his arms around her waist. "Oh, hi babe," she says happily. "Baby, this is Hermione Granger. She used to go to school with me."

Babe? Baby? Gross. What ever happened to old fashioned, romantic pet names that are actually cute? Most of them make me cringe, but I wouldn't oppose to 'sweetheart' or 'beautiful'. Not that I feel like I deserve either of them, but still. Maybe someday.

"Did you?" asks the boy, brushing a bit of his perfect blond hair out of his eyes. Merlin, their hair even matches. If I hadn't known that Maddie only has sisters, this would actually be kind of creepy. "Was she as wonderful even back then?"

"Ohhh, Syd!" Maddie squeals, giggling and hitting his arm. "Stop it! Tell him, Hermione, tell him that I'm not nearly as wonderful as he thinks that I am."

I'd love to.

"Picture perfect," I say instead, shooting her a painful smile. Maddie smiles back. Somehow, it seems to lack any human emotion.

"Hermione, this is Sydney Fitzgerald. He's my boyfriend. And who's this?" she asks, eyes gliding appreciatively up Ron's toned biceps, undoubtedly looking extra good due to all the Quidditch he's been playing with his brothers. That's really all they do at the Burrow. I think that's the reason Mrs. Weasley cooks so much. Without it, she'd go spare. Actually, right now I shouldn't worry about other people going spare, because I'm about to. How dare Maddie look at Ron like that when she's got her own boyfriend right there? I know he's broad and muscular and funny and handsome and his hair is a constant reminder of really lovely sunsets, but- oh, god, _stop looking at him like that!_

"This is Ron," I say, tone just as light at hers. "He's _my_ boyfriend."

Oh, pants. That was not the smartest thing I've ever done.

"He's what?" Ron demands in a high voice, but thankfully it is cut off as Maddie's shrill giggles fill the air once more.

"No way!" she gasps, still laughing. "Hermione Stranger got a boyfriend?"

I wince at the old nickname, and Ron stiffens in anger. He clears his throat, takes a breath, and grabs my hand. His is slightly clammy.

"Yeah," he says, holding on tight to me. "She has."

"Well, I'll be," Maddie chortles. "I can't wait to tell the girls that Hermione Granger went off to nerd school and brought back a boy! They'll never believe me! I may need a picture just to prove it. It_ is_ worth a thousand words, you know." 

Hardee har har.

"Go ahead," Ron says, voice rough.

I wonder if this would be an appropriate time to swoon?

"So, Hermione," Maddie says, eyes a bit more narrowed, smile still plastered onto her face. "Sydney and I met last year. When did you and Ron meet?"

"On the train to school when we were eleven years old," I say promptly. "He was the first person I met." 

Actually, he was the second person, but let's just not count Neville in this, okay?

"Sydney and I have been dating since June," Maddie says next, though her fake smile has slipped a little bit.

"Ron and I have been dating since we were fourteen," I shoot back. "There was a formal ball and-"

"-and I asked her before anyone else did," Ron says firmly. I can actually hear the hatred in his voice. "It was just as friends, but as soon as I saw her walking towards me in that beautiful dress of hers, I realized that I fancied her like mad. We've been together ever since that first dance."

Oh look, my knees have turned to jelly. That's normal.

I close my eyes for a second, picturing present-day Ron sitting up on the large black horse he had used when defeating the chess game in first year. Mmmm. Sexy.

"Sydney is the sweeper on the school's football team," Maddie says, eyes narrowing.

"Ron's the... goalie," I tell her, eyes flicking back to Ron's arms as though trying to prove a point.

Aaaand that's the extent of my knowledge on football. Let's hope no more questions are asked on that front.

"We won the championship this year."

"So did our team," I say truthfully. "Ron saved the winning goal. He was marvelous."

Ron grins down at me, forgetting for I second that I hadn't even seen the game.

Maddie's spitting mad now, although she's loathe to admit it. Alarm begins to fill me as her smile grows wider, her facial expression harder. I know that look- she's striking to kill. She is a stupid Slytherin snake that is about to sink her poisonous teeth into my arm, and there is absolutely nothing that I can do about it. She tosses her hair over her shoulders and begins to speak.

"Well, Hermione, I'm so glad you managed to find yourself a man," she begins, eyes boring into me. Suddenly, they switch over to Ron. "You know, after all she's been through, it's quite heartwarming. Hermione Granger used to be the weirdest little caterpillar I've ever met! She was gawky and friendless and the way she used to jump out of her chair to answer questions was downright obnoxious. Of course, it's fabulous that she finally managed to find a boy to look past that unfortunate hair of hers and really care for her... well, after all these years of being a complete loner, I suppose Ms. Stranger really deserves it! And because you know her so well, I expect you've heard all the old stories."

"Stories?" Ron says, unknowingly squeezing my hand even harder.

"You know, the one when the entire class dumped an entire shelf of books on her while she was reading, the time some of the boys pasted her hands to the desk so that she couldn't answer questions anymore, the time when we were five that one of the girls in the class pulled down her pants and everybody saw her knickers... oh, and, let's not forget the time when we were ten that Luke Porter asked her out an a dare and she got all excited and said yes!"

Maddie punctuates the last statement with a laugh, gaze hard on Ron's gorgeous eyes. Eyes which have just turned to me to see my own brown ones filled with the tears that have been threatening to burst out since Maddie started talking in the first place. He looks up and glares at her. Maddie glances at her wrist.

"Oh, look at the time!" she says, which is funny because she's not wearing a watch. "We really must be going! Bye, Hermione. Bye, Ron. Nice to meet you."

She stands on her tiptoes and gives him a kiss on his cheek to solidify my mortification. As soon as she turns her back, Ron brings his hand up to his cheek and wipes the lip gloss off, glaring daggers at Maddie.

"Hermione?" he murmurs, turning to me. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," I whisper. "I'm good."

He brushes a tear away from my eye with his thumb, and when I look up he is staring at me not with pity, but with adoration.

"I'm really sorry about that," he says sorrowfully. "I should have stopped her as soon as she started talking. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

I smile, though it's bittersweet.

"Could we make a stop on the way home?"

I walk as soon as I see him nod, flashing him a grateful smile over my shoulder.

"Where are we going?" he asks, catching up to me easily.

"It's a secret," I inform him.

"Don't you mean a surprise?" he prods, smiling and frowning at the same time, as if he's convinced that I'm completely barmy but he absolutely loves it.

"No," I chuckle. "I mean a secret, Ron. You can't tell anyone about this place- not even my parents know about it."

He now seems to be aching with curiosity as he follows my quick footsteps, right to an extremely tall building.

"What is this place?" he asks. "And how do your parents not know about it? It's bloody tall."

"People walk right by it," I say softly, gazing at it from across the street with great fondness. "It's not particularly pretty, so they ride it off as just another book store that isn't worth their time."

"Hang on," Ron says, turning to me and glowering. "You brought me to a bloody bookstore? I think I get enough of this, what with all of your trips to the library."

"I'm not here for the books," I promise. "At least... not now."

With that, I cross the street and open the door, a small bell tinkling merrily as I do so. Another wall hits us as we enter, this time of cold air. Both of us let out discernible sighs of relief at being out of the hot sun. I look around until an old lady walks out from behind the desk.

"Ms. Granger!" she says. "How are you?"

"I'm wonderful," I say, hoping that she can't see the tears in my eyes. "I was wondering if I could visit the top floor."

"Of course you can," she says. "We have some new first editions up there that I'm sure you're dying to get your hands on." Her eyes land on Ron, and she smiles wider. "Is this young man with you?" I nod. "You must love books too!" she says brightly.

We both snort, but manage to cover it up as a cough.

"No, miss," he says. "I'm just here for the view."

I learn later that Ron is not talking about the view out the window of the top floor.

We make our way upstairs, all of the steps easy after years of climbing up stairs at Hogwarts. We aren't even winded by the time we reach the top. That place can work wonders on a person's physique- which is good, because with the house elves' cooking, most people could be getting quite fat. Including people who don't play sports, such as myself. My fingers trail lightly over the spines of the books as I walk. They're everywhere, scattered in a wonderfully chaotic fashion. In this place, you have to look very hard, for you never know what you might stumble upon. But that's what I love about it- the safe mystery, the organized chaos. It's what I need. It's what Ron can give me with his carefree attitude and the way he's used to a crazy, hectic life. He can get me to let loose like nobody else in this world. I can't imagine going a day without him reminding me to relax or making me laugh or even just having him in my life. I tried once in third year. To be blunt, it sucked.

That's not really a term I use often. For the record, you know.

The view at the top is completely round, windows in place of walls. It shows the entire town, so high that you can see miles out. Ron makes a joke about his ears popping, but I ignore it, bliss consuming me as I enter the place that I have never shared with anyone. Not my mum. Not my dad. Not anybody from school. Only Ron. For a second I simply stare breathlessly out at the sight, then I sit down carefully at one of the window seats, pushing a few books aside to do so. I look at the titles- they're all Jane Austen- then clutch them to my chest, inhaling the fresh scent. Ron goes to sit on the same window seat, and I bring my knees up to my chest, resting the books on top of them. He's in the same position, but with the length of his legs, he's got to have much more room. His limbs are pressing themselves against mine, yet I can't bring myself to mind.

"When I was little," I say after a few moments of silence, "I was kind of tormented in school. So everyday after school I would come here for ten minutes to read and to look out the window and remind myself of how amazingly tiny I am. How insignificant. This is just my small town- imagine the rest of England. The rest of Europe. The rest of the world. I- we- matter to no one, and that is such a comforting thought. To know how tiny we are, and how our decisions don't actually affect anyone but ourselves. When you take a step back and look at it like that, it's so calming. I- I tried going up to the astronomy tower when I first came to Hogwarts, but it didn't have the desired effect. I was kind of tightly wound in first year, but now I have something even better than this."

"What?" Ron asks, staring at me with a gaze I might dare to define as smoldering.

"You," I smile. "You're my best friend, and you can make me laugh like nobody else in this world. You're even better than this view is at calming me down. Of course, unlike this view, you're also an expert at riling me up. You know me even better than my parents do, we've been through so much together, and I want to thank you for making me able to forget whatever happened in my past. I wish you knew what an amazing friend you are."

"I'm not really," Ron says, scuffing the bottom of his shoe back and forth on the window seat and looking rather pleased with himself, regardless of his words.

"You are, though!" I insist. "What you did- pretending to be my boyfriend, making up that story about the yule ball- it really showed what a loyal friend you are. That girl has always been so much better than me, but you helped me one-up her. Until the end happened."

"Hermione, that girl is not better than you," Ron snorts. "I can't even believe you'd consider that possibility.

"She's funnier than me."

"Did you notice anyone else laughing at her jokes besides her?"

"She's nicer than I am."

"Hermione, you may be honest sometimes, but at least you're not plastic. That girl is plastic. You have never been like that."

"She's got more friends."

"Also fits into the plastic category- she molds herself into a form in which she can be just like them."

"She's... prettier than me."

"Her hair is thin and boring, and she has got an enormous forehead."

"What?" I manage to choke out. "What are you on about?"

"That girl should really consider getting a fringe. Her forehead is so big that I'm actually considering suggesting having the Quidditch World Cup on it."

"_Ron_!" I gasp through my laughter. "Are you serious?"

"Absolutely," he says fervently. "I mean, c'mon, it's unnatural, that forehead."

"You're mental," I tell him, but now that he's pointed it out, I can actually see that her forehead is very large, indeed.

"No, _you_ are," he argues. "Because you think she's better than you are just 'cause she was kind of bitchy to you in grade school. Which one of you is going to grow up to be the bloody Minister of Magic? Not Maddie. You, Hermione. And I'd be willing to bet that she only makes fun of you because she hates her unnaturally large forehead and wants someone to take it out on."

"How did you learn so much about the inner workings of the female mind?" I ask, squinting at him suspiciously.

He looks embarrassed.

"My mum tends to ramble while cooking dinner, and most of the time she gives me girl advice. Which makes absolutely no sense because out of all of her sons I'm the least close to having a girlfriend."

And whose fault is that, hmmm?

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

I hesitate.

"Thank you."

Which really means_ '_I love you.'

OOO

It strange to look into the mirror and see your reflection. You always look a bit different from how you picture yourself. Sometimes you'll wonder why your hair looks that good, because you're pretty sure it's uglier than the image that stares back at you. And sometimes you'll swear to god that your nose is usually smaller than it seems at that moment. But the thing is, no matter how much we wish they do, mirrors don't lie. That said, though mirrors can't lie, they also aren't completely honest. Because beauty isn't about how the mirror perceives you, the raw fact in what you've got on your face. Beauty is the way people who love you see you, the glimmer in their eyes as they set their eyes on you after a long day of work. Beauty is experience added onto a face over many years of living the best that you can. It's the caterpillar that turns into a butterfly, the ugly princess that gets her prince, the boy telling the girl that he loves her even in spite of all her internal and external scars. And the best part is that she too loves him in spite of his.

Long brown hair, sparkling eyes, full lips, and apparently adorable nose freckles. A wide smile, a small scar on my forehead, and two rings glittering on my fourth finger as I reach up to smooth out the worry lines on my forehead. This is what I see when I look in the mirror. Ron says it's gorgeous, my reflection, so I believe him. If he thinks I'm beautiful, who am I to argue? He's the one who married me, anyways. And you know what, it doesn't even matter how I look. My skin or my hair or my nose. When I look in the mirror, I see happiness. I see a woman who is proud of her achievements, proud of what she's done, who wouldn't change anything about her life because she is so enthralled with the way it turned out. I mean, come on! I ended up married to Ronald Bilius Weasley. Sixteen year old me basically does an elaborate happy dance every time I wake up in the morning and he's right next to me, every time I go to sleep and he's the last thing I see, every single time he sneaks up on me in the shower and hops in with me and makes us both late for work.

Yes, even then. That is how much sixteen year old me- and current me, for the record- loves him. Everybody knows that I hate, hate, hate being late.

My hands go down to smooth out my dress and the familiar bump that is underneath it. It became natural to reach down and touch it long ago- it's just a part of me, even though it's not permanent. I think I might actually miss it a little bit when I've given birth, miss being able to reach down and rub it when I'm nervous or excited or feel like I'm alone. Though I_ won't_ miss the constant search for maternity clothes. That's not fabulous, to be honest. Apparently my little girl doesn't care about the fact that her mum hates shopping. So inconsiderate. At least they have reasonably nice clothes now, like this dress I'm wearing. It's our last anniversary before we have a child, and Ron made me let him plan it all out. I think this is because of the fact that I'm carrying his baby- not because I'm having his child, per se, but because every time I vomit or have odd cravings or anything like that, I look up to see him staring at me with an expression that tells me he's extremely glad that _I'm_ doing all this rather than him. He's much more helpful around the house now, and the awe he used to look at me with before we started dating is definitely back on his face. He even applied for a day-mission position in the Auror Department, just until the baby is born and I'm ready to handle her on my own. Somehow, I've managed to convince my boss to let me work from home and only come in twice a week. In that event, both of my mothers have kindly offered to care for her. My mum is just really excited to be a grandmother, and with Mrs. Weasley it is now easier than breathing. She's got so many grandchildren by now.

I've brushed my hair, applied makeup, and put on my dress and shoes, so now all there is to do is wait for Ron. I glance around the house, feeling slightly helpless without something to do- living in a Weasley household, there is always something that needs to be done. Whether it's shopping for a niece and nephew's birthday or caring for your husband or cleaning or cooking or going to family parties or having family teas or babysitting for one of your sisters-in-law, there's never a spare moment, and that's _with_ work on top. But I wouldn't have it any other way, never would have married anyone else, because it's always been Ron. Being a Weasley just clicks for me- in some way, I feel like I have been preparing myself to join this family all of my life. And in that first year of marriage, I had already known them since I was thirteen, so it wasn't nearly as strange as it was for some of the Weasley boys' wives. Unlike Fleur and Audrey, I fit into the family immediately, just like a puzzle piece. My duties didn't really change from when I was simply Ron's girlfriend or fiancée, either. I suppose it's because ever since I met him, I subconsciously pictured my future in a family suspiciously similar to that of the Weasleys. There wasn't need for cold feet or second guessing, because I had been preparing myself to marry Ron all my life.

And, let's face it, Hermione Weasley is a _perfect _name.

I stand up as I hear "HERMIONE?" coming from downstairs, and hurry to the door to see my husband standing at the foot of the stairs. He sees me and dashes up the stairs two steps at a time, then sweeps me into his arms and snogs me quite thoroughly.

"Happy anniversary," I laugh, pulling back.

"You too," he grins, and then he kneels down and presses his lips against my stomach. "Hi baby! And how was your day?"

Like always, he waits as though expecting the answer. Yes, I know. It's bloody adorable, that's what it is.

"So, where exactly are we going?" I ask, and he straightens up to his full height, staring down at me looking slightly stern.

"I told you that you weren't finding out!"

"Ron!" I whine. "This is ridiculous."

"Does it make you nervous?" he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

"What?"

"Relinquishing control? Throwing caution to the wind? Seizing the day? Letting your husband handle date night?"

"No," I fib.

"So little faith," he says, clutching his heart as he sees right through me.

"Just change so we can go," I say grumpily, pointing to the bedroom. He kisses me one more time before going inside to change his clothes. I lean against the doorway and we make small talk about our days. My eyes drift down to the scars on his back, still prominent from the battle even though it's been so many years. For the love of merlin, we've been married for three years now. We're twenty six and the scars have not gone away. Actually, I'm not entirely sure all those are from the final battle. Are those nail marks?

Shoot, I have really got to stop doing that to him.

"Done," he says, turning around. "C'mon, close your eyes."

"Seriously?" I groan.

"I worked so hard to plan our anniversary, can you at least close your eyes? I'm not asking you to jump off of the building!"

Only my utter and complete trust in Ron allows me to do so. He takes my hand and apparates. When I open them, we are in front of a familiar muggle cinema. Looking around, I see the small shops and cobblestone street that dominated my childhood right in front of me. And this is the cinema that we went to ten years ago! Ron's first ever film.

"This time," he says, smirking, "we can snog in the back."

I laugh and he leads me into the theater, buying a large popcorn and one drink on our way. We only have one straw, and that's actually okay now. We hold hands through the movie, though we don't snog, because we have a perfectly good place to do just that, and snogging in the back of a movie theater seems like a rather large waste of money when we can simply go home and snog there. It strikes me how much has changed since the last time we were here together, and it makes me so very happy. There's no impending doom, so immediate danger, no chance that Voldemort will kill the people I love most in the world. We are no longer expected to do a task that is way too much for three teenagers to handle, no longer supposed to save the world. Adult life seems unbelievably simple and relaxed in comparison to what happened when we were eighteen, and that's what lets us get through it. Whatever happens now, we've been through so much worse.

It's dark by the time the movie ends. We stroll leisurely out of the theater, get ice cream, and begin to walk down the street towards the bookstore. It's a beautiful, warm night, with a clear sky filled with stars and a full moon. Normally full moons would be a bit alarming, but werewolves are very rare these days, and the ministry has managed to make the situation with them a little bit better. We've just reached the B&B when I see it.

"Is... is that _Maddie_?" Ron asks incredulously.

"I think so," I say. We look at each other for a moment, then scramble to hide in the same alcove we had ten years ago. "Hang on."

"Yeah?"

"Why are we hiding? We're married. There's nothing she can do to embarrass me anymore, and furthermore, we helped kill Lord Voldemort. Surely we can handle her?"

"You want to handle her?" he asks, scrutinizing my expression.

"Yes," I say slowly. "Yes, I do. For sixteen year old me, and for our baby, and for twenty-six year old me as well. Because no matter what she's done, what I've done is better, and she can not touch me anymore. Furthermore, she isn't _allowed_ to touch me anymore."

"Let's go kick some arse," Ron says in response, and we high five vigorously before removing ourselves from the alcove.

"Maddie!" I sing. "Maddie Shorter?"

She turns around and her eyes light up.

"Hermione Granger!" she says, jabbing the arm of the man walking next to her. "Hello!" 

"Hi!" I say brightly. "How are you?"

"I'm great," she replies. "You?"

"I'm wonderful," is my honest response. "Who's this?" I ask, gesturing to the man.

"Oh, this is my husband," Maddie says fondly. "Danny Kravchuck. We got married just after we finished school."

"Wow, eighteen," I say for Ron's benefit. "So... you're Maddie Kravchuck now?"

"Yes, I am," she says, and her smile slips a little bit at the surname. Her eyes flit over to Ron, and they widen as they take him in. "Hang on," she says. "Is this-?"

"Maddie, you know Ron," I say cheerfully.

"Is this the same boy you were dating-" she does some quick mental math, "-nine years ago?"

"Actually, ten," I tell her. "Yeah, we've been married for three years."

"Nice to see you again, Maddie," Ron says, putting his arm casually around my shoulders.

"So... you married the boy who you met on the train to school your first day?"

"Yes, I suppose I did," I affirm, swiveling around to smile up at Ron.

"That's... um... wow."

"It's pretty wow, yeah," Ron agrees. "I was just never able to fall out of love with her, so I married her instead."

"Awww, sweetheart," I say, leaning up to kiss him. "That's so sweet, thank you."

"So- er- I see you guys are expecting," Maddie says uncomfortably.

"Yeah," Ron says, placing a hand on my stomach and rubbing affectionately. "Our first. It's a beautiful little girl."

"A girl!" Maddie sighs. "We have four boys. You're so lucky."

"My mum kept trying until she had a girl," Ron chooses to point out. "You could do that."

"How long did it take her?" Maddie asks eagerly.

"Well, there were my three older brothers before the twin boys came along, and then there was me, and finally Ginny came along. So I suppose you could say six tries."

"S-six? She's got seven kids?" 

"Plus a husband who acts like one," I joke, and Ron lets out a laugh.

"Yeah, dad does tend to act like a kid. Especially around his many grandchildren and all of our adorable nieces and nephews."

"And our three godchildren!" I add. "With another one on the way."

"I can imagine," says Maddie in a rather faint manner.

"Are you a stay at home mum?" I ask her. "What with four boys and all."

"Yes," Maddie nods. "I used to work at a hair salon before, but I decided that being a mother is more important."

"Oh, I understand!" I say genuinely. "Yes, when I have my little girl, I'm going to have to stop going into work."

"What do you do?" asks Maddie, now looking somewhat tentative.

"I'm a lawyer for the government," I say without hesitation.

It's true. I am a lawyer for the government. Maybe not the British government, but she has no way of knowing that.

"And Ron?" she says, her eyes not meeting mine.

"I'm an agent for the government," he replies. "A spy, one might say."

"Seriously?" Maddie breathes, eyes wide. "Are you even allowed to tell me that?"

Ron glances around from left to right, then looks back at Maddie.

"We make special allowances. And what does your husband do?"

Maddie looks thoroughly ashamed as she says,

"He works at a car dealership."

"Well, that must be fascinating!" Ron says. "Tell me all about it!"

"I would," Maddie puts in hurriedly, not even allowing her husband to speak, "but we really must be going."

"Bye now!" I say, waving, joy coursing through me.

Because, let's face it, I totally won that round.

We walk off down the street, away from Maddie and her husband. As soon as we round the corner, we both burst into hysterical laughter, leaning against each other.

"Maddie Kravchuck?" Ron snorts derisively. "Oh god. More like Crapchuck!"

"Or upchuck!" I add, holding my stomach. "Oh merlin."

I kiss him tenderly, so glad that Weasley isn't nearly as stupid as Kravchuck. We begin walking down the street, holding hands, and eventually reach the place that we had been looking for. The bookstore. Ron reaches over and pushes the door open.

"I got her to keep it open for us," he tells me, answering the question I hadn't even asked yet.

"You're brilliant," I tell him, and I turn around to beam at him once before beginning to dash up the stairs.

Never once in my life have I regretted sharing this place with Ron.

It's dark and quiet when we reach the top- darker than it was when we started climbing. Somehow, the window is cool in the balmy night, and I press my forehead against it, relaxation and accomplishment stealing over me. After all the years of torture this girl made me endure, it feels superb to know that my life is better than hers even without the whole saving-the-world part. It's not that I want her to be unhappy, but it does restore my faith in the world. I'm going to raise my daughter in a realm where good conquers evil, where the brainy defeats brawny, where the course of true love may not run smooth, but it still comes out on top. Ron comes up behind me, slipping his arms around my waist, pulling me close to him. He drops a kiss on the top of my head before resting his chin on it.

"Thank you," I murmur.

Which really means 'I love you'.


End file.
